Poetry Selections

To Myself, Darkly

I see myself in myself,
Regress for all my life,
Images of darkness
Placed on a shelf,
Confusion forever rife,
Photographic assess.

I see myself in myself,
Photo, o' little photo,
Little photo of I,
Represents oneself,
Infinite visual canto,
I'm behind it, for I'm shy.

I see myself in myself,
Abundant possibilities,
But all truly the same,
For I am a simple self,
Lacking complex worries,
And this photo I do tame.


Blurb

Inside and out I'm simply me,
Feelings that you don't know,
Emotions you cannot see,
But a body that I can show.

To you and everyone I meet,
We may not exchange stories,
So there's no room for deceit,
And I must appear to please.

My looks are a summary of me,
One that I wear every hour,
I must make sure my looks will be,
Honest about me and never sour.

But whether you know me or not,
My appearance will impose:
Take me seriously with a spot
Of black paint on my nose.


Train of Thoughts

Ahh, I relax, traveling by rail,
Wild feline on metal
At the station, like a snail.

Kids returning from school,
Fighting, bickering as one,
Showing off to girls by the pool.

A crow atop the stone’s ident,
Shimmying left and right
With talons, forming a trident.

Moving again down the line,
Past the fields, houses, and waste,
And like the kids and the crow,
The rails painfully whine.

At Havant, I board a new train,
Loud, it tilts and groans,
Into darkness we plunge, not sane,
And then all I want is to get off.


Forever?

I can never believe that you or I,
Could end, may stop, might fade.
Will die.
For how can either you or me,
Pop into life, then cease to be?

Maybe it’s my immortality desire,
To exist forever, to the end of time.
To never tire.
To be the watcher, the keeper,
Of the mortal folk under my meter.

I put my faith in a higher reality,
Of a spiritual existence pre-life.
After mortality.
From where we came, we will return,
To allow our immortal fire to burn.

But perhaps I should leave a mark,
On those who have yet to come.
Give a spark.
Inspire future generations’ wisdom,
No more than part of a human sum.


Patience

I made a mistake in hindsight
Naked torso to the ultra violent,
Ultraviolet light.

Burnt were my back and front,
Searing pain struck me fast and hard
Like a brutal shunt.

For days post cooking my body broke
As the punishments for my mind
My body spoke.

Sleepless, lonely nights of thought,
The result of pain I just wish
They’d cut short.

The heat swells both outside and in
Movement restricted, and blisters erupt
On my skin.

Then came the most agonising ordeal,
Huge challenge of resistance,
An endurance seal.

Itching, painful, needles they try to slay
Hours I suffered, nothing to alleviate,
It must stay.

Time stretched on through challenges
Of my soul, a self-inflicted castigation
He says.

But giving in is useless as already
I know that time heals if I persist
And stay steady.

When my layers fall away, useless and old,
I rejoice as motility returns, feeling renewed
And cold.


Scrapheap

Beauty comes in many forms,
Many places and at any time,
From people, to fields of flowers and storms,
But an underestimated fellow is the scrapheap,
Overflowing with waste and grime,
To see the beauty you must look deep.

The beauty of the scrapheap is threefold,
The purpose is serves to humankind,
The shining of cans and the colours of mould,
And the diversity of cultures it sees,
About its reputation the ‘heap doesn’t mind,
For its beauty unlike most, is held in threes.

Like plants feed on our wasted air,
The scrapheap’s existence is comprised,
Of what we no longer want or need to be there,
And regardless of this, the scrapheap still serves,
So why is it not adored or prized,
With its iron will and steel nerves.

Put deepness aside, we look to the surface,
Banana peels, discarded bike wheels,
When something loses purpose, it becomes a disgrace,
So why is the glorious scrapheap disgusting,
When of all our creations, all of the skills,
Scrapheap is the most unique, it has the most meaning.


Deathly Beauty

I sit and stand each day and night,
Waiting for you to give me sight.
But as you pass you turn away,
Be it light or dark, night or day.

The dew flows down smooth from me,
Can you not, or won’t you see?
The dancing of my crystal spires,
You’re more concerned with rubber tires.

A timeless being cycling on,
Seeds that fly, one becomes my son.
Nurture by nature, and epoch,
More in life yet, you forge your mock.

Mirror for you, I surely am,
Not for the tiger nor the lamb.
See your choices in me my friend,
Soon your life will be at an end.

Blind to the deathly beauty now,
I ask the question to you: how?
Look for the joy: the dancing me,
Find the beauty: the winter tree.


A Frog Concern

- I -

Early morning, two ante meridiem,
Coming in from the human labour.

I spot something moving underfoot,
Bending down to see whom it is.

A tiny creature of innocence and joy,
The frog waves proverbially at me.

Hopping back and forth, confused,
Head hitting the door four times.

I’m curious as to how dumb he is,
How he can do it without care.

He doubles back, bouncing away.
I follow, glass in hand to capture.

The predator sleeps atop a throne,
His purring starts, a stretch.

The tiny morsel stops close-by,
But I, the human, intervene in time.

Released outside, the frog is free,
And I breathe a sigh of relief.

- II -

Bringing in my human transport,
I am now cautious of my tread.

How is it that my awareness
Triggers off my emotion: concern.

Are my motives of saving the time
It took to free helpless in my care?

Or is it actually some form of worry
That accompanies the godhood.

I hear a crack, my toes scream,
Looking down, I am relieved.

The victim of this crime was
Simply a snail, not the frog.

- III -

Next night comes after human time,
And I hear the mewing of a servant.

I tend to the unconditionally loving,
To find a plaything in his midst.

I search, I look, I feel, I encourage
Him to show me what he has.

Out hops the frog, a rear leg hacked
Clean from its socket. The cat purrs.

Maybe my concerns were all for naught,
For nature is a brutal cycle.

I am merely along for a ride,
And ethics are a human condition.

The frog was a noble creature,
Innocent and undeserving of this fate.

But there’s little I can do in the end,
And I find myself more helpless than he.